


Ashes in His Wake

by invisoen



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Character Study, Five Nights at Freddy's: Ultimate Custom Night, Forgiveness, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reunions, me pushing the "henry goes to purgatory" agenda, possible canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28610559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisoen/pseuds/invisoen
Summary: A chance for forgiveness, which only stems from a time spent in the darkest pit of hell. Henry Emily and his demons, in a manufactured hell of his own, finally takes a step forward. To resolve.
Relationships: William Afton | Dave Miller & Henry Emily
Kudos: 16





	Ashes in His Wake

His bones were brittle, and he smelled of soot. Last he saw in his vision was orange, violent reds, and rotting blacks and browns. He was on his knees on a tiled floor. The room wasn’t lit. He could see nothing but black and white and dirty tiled flooring. It seeped into the cracked walls. Some drawings were on the floor. Some... _familiar_ drawings too, faced up as if to taunt him.

_This wasn’t the heaven his family liked to imagine, was it?_

He could have stood and walked around. But Henry didn’t think he had the strength for it, his arms shook as he crawled close to the ground. Oh, how it _hurt_. Every muscle screamed. He couldn’t get rid of this nasty cough that threatened to topple him to his side.

Henry withstood it. He always did.

He couldn’t see where he was crawling. If there was a point to it. After minutes of stumbling, he let his hand rest in what he assumed was a puddle of water. It felt like bliss on his hands, but his stomach lurched. Better not to crawl closer. Henry pushed himself into a sitting position next to the water, taking off his gloves and letting his bare hands cool.

When he touched the water, he swore… he could _hear_ something. He could hear those twisted shouts and screams from a familiar voice. It gave him a greater chill. One that traveled through his worn and abused body. God, he needed a rest. What would it take?

His hand dipped deeper into the puddle, and the scream cut through his thoughts.

**_“H͇̊͑́͜ͅE̢̥̺̩̒̃͋̂N͍̰͙̗̖̐̎̿̂̒RÝ̲̰́!”_ **

He… _William_ was here too. A level deeper than him, so to say. Could this have been… hell? It felt like it. Henry pulled away from the puddle, drying his hands and curling in on himself. No, _purgatory_. He did all he could, and he did what needed to be done. He judged himself enough when he was alive. He justified his actions _enough._ No more.

He would not hear the man on the lower level. No, he would reject the bliss the water brought his burnt hands. Was that how he was going to spend this eternity? Staunch and stubborn, unwilling to listen. His entire body still smoldered with that confusing mix of emotions. How he wanted to reach his hand in there and… well, what would he do then? He didn’t want to hear William’s excuses.

Time marched on in that position. He didn’t starve, but he ached. Every once in a while, that man would scream loud enough so that it echoed off the walls of the pizzeria.

It always woke Henry up. In that half-awake state, that was when he was most desperate. It was unbearably bare, that space he was forced to reside in. He wanted somebody, anybody, to… It was such a selfish thought. If he had a way, he would’ve considered chopping off those selfish hands.

He dreamt. He dreamt of reaching into that puddle and pulling William up. Would he be able to reach? Henry didn’t think he was strong enough to do it, anyway. He wasn’t strong enough to stand for himself. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to. _He didn’t want to._ He was not going to be dependent. He was not going to let himself. No more chances. No more doubts. What was happening was right and just.

Had it been weeks then since he decided on that? It could’ve been years, decades. Henry settled on decades. That’s usually how long it took for his mind to change. In that time, it felt like his self split into more parts. As if his mind couldn't handle the contradictions, it had concluded on different states. Henry would wake up, housing an unpredictable selection of emotions. There was one state that took all the pain, that one would stare into the puddle and wonder what could have been. If he had noticed, if he had taken care of his friend...

There was one that yelled back. He tore, screamed, and pulled at anything he could find. It was therapeutic, yet he could never recall how exactly he was lashing out.

The last one was his waking self, that one that was free of daytime burdens. That Henry just wanted to be held. It was incredibly lonely, wasn't it? This Henry was rational, knowing it would be so easy to find himself a companion. That he didn't have to punish himself like this as well. That Henry was also the weakling who just wanted assurance that his ignorance, his naivety, his _inaction_ could be forgiven. That Henry was a _monster_ who wanted to reunite with his fellow man.

He twisted into himself, waking from a nightmare where he was allowed to leave and roam among mankind. That nobody could see him and acknowledge what he had done.

Henry decided. Goddamn, he needed _someone_. He reached in, an arm diving into the puddle of water and fishing. He could hear that man, his voice was practically in his ears. It was clear, it was the same as it was before the tragedy, it was tempting. “Henry, it’s me,” the voice said, before a weight tugged down on his arm and threatened to pull him in. William seemed to fully trust that it was him. That Henry could save him. A sadistic part of him wanted to let go. To break his trust like he did his. But he was so tired of the screams. He wanted to move on.

He pulled the figure up with all of his strength, pulling the man out onto the tiles. Henry was overwhelmed with what he saw. William was emaciated, painfully so, and he had all the scars on the body that should’ve gone up into ashes.

“God, you look terrible,” he said.

“You _sound_ terrible,” William retorted. The time in hell didn’t quell his attitude, it seemed. “Don’t look too good there yourself, friend.”

He hadn’t been able to look at himself. Henry leaned over the puddle, and what he was able to make out was a spent man. His jacket was nearly ripped to shreds. He traced over scars that he didn’t remember forming. William had tormentors, he could _hear_ their voices sometimes, but what had been tormenting him? He brushed his fingers over scratches, the dirtiness of his nails speaking for themselves what had happened. The two men looked at each other. They were both hollow and battered, but Henry doubted they were better people for it.

“...I need some rest,” he said. He didn’t want to think about this presence next to him. But this presence let him sleep, it didn’t force him to stand and find a way out of this hell. Henry used him as a pillow, but he felt like he was resting on the floor anyway. All he felt beneath him was bone. Without the screams though, it was a much better rest than the times before.

And he dreamt that dream again. He roamed the streets with William, they were untouched by their worries. They were forgiven. When he looked at his old friend in his dream, he could see something that wasn’t there before in his eyes. Before, his eyes didn’t smile.

Before, he was so overworked. He swarmed himself in the work, dedicated himself to the pizzeria, hoping to ignore himself and the situation he was stuck in. God, Henry should’ve helped. He should’ve talked, but he didn’t. So he tried to now. He asked the questions he didn’t bother to before. Henry asked first if he missed his family.

“Everyday,” William said, quickly muttering something along the lines of he couldn’t, he _can’t_ see them. “I can’t burden them anymore…” He didn’t ask Henry if he missed his. They both knew not to open old wounds.

“Is there a chance… that I could be forgiven?” Henry asked.

William laughed, the force of it made him wheeze before he could calm himself and say, “God-fucking-damnit, Henry, stop pretending like _you_ did anything wrong. You’re a saint compared to me.”

That didn’t make him feel any better. And William seemed to know that. “Everything you did…” William continued, “It was for her sake. I… Well, everything I did was for my family’s sake. But it cost so much. I lost myself, Henry. I fucked up everything.”

“Even if I could be forgiven, I couldn’t be a redeemed person. I lost every bit of myself that made me human, I’m rotten,” William sighed to himself, he had to quit the rambling and let Henry speak, “But god, you deserve out. Look at yourself.”

William struggled to stand, but a few moments was all it took for him to get on his feet, “I never said this. I don’t think you even want to hear it, but I want to apologize. Before you go, I’m sorry.”

“Will…” Henry stared at the thin man’s outstretched hand. He expected himself to reject this apology, to reject William’s hand. But where would that get them? They would’ve kept wasting away in that burnt pizzeria.

No, they would find a way out. Henry would make things right. It was what they needed, but what they deserved was still unknown. They left their demons down below, and took a walk. The two men tried to not think of their history.

Better to let it rest.


End file.
